


where does the love go?

by SydneyHorses



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crimson Flower, F/F, Flight Patrols, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25762057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyHorses/pseuds/SydneyHorses
Summary: Byleth keeps assigning Ingrid and Constance to flight patrols together, despite the fact that the two have seemingly nothing in common. It's a disgrace, not to mention tedious, and even worse - Yuri seems to think that Byleth's aim from this endeavor is for the two women to become friends. Preposterous!
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Constance von Nuvelle
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	where does the love go?

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! i'm here with an ultra rarepair, one that ended up being a ton of fun!
> 
> i just think? that women

“You just don’t _understand,_ ” Constance says emphatically.

Yuri doesn’t seem to mind at all that he doesn’t understand, or even notice that she’s talking to him. He’s holding a book, although she thinks that it’s just set dressing more than anything else. That’s the Savage Mockingbird for you; always on display for some imaginary audience that neither of them can see. “Mmm.”

“Yuri!”

He laughs, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the table in front of him. His book falls shut, further confirming her suspicions that he wasn’t actually reading it at all. The two of them are in Abyss, as usual, and although they’re ostensibly reviewing advanced battle maneuvers, they’ve quickly deviated from anything productive. 

Instead, their work has turned into yet another of their gossip sessions. Yuri, after all, knows everyone and everything worth knowing, and Constance loves to hear herself speak. They make a good match. Balthus and Hapi are wonderful, of course, but neither of them are particularly prone to gossip. It makes for poor company when Constance is in the mood to complain about someone, as she is now.

“Fine,” he says, stifling a yawn. “Enlighten me.”

Constance tilts her chin into the air, looking down at him past the tip of her nose. “I told you already. Ingrid Galatea is a menace to society, and I don’t know why Lady Edelgard permitted her to join the army.”

Yuri laughs, his book falling off his lap and landing on the floor with a thump,. “Goddess, Constance. Do you even hear yourself? Ingrid is a gifted warrior, and she’s a valuable asset to the army. You’re both talented fliers. Learning to work together well wouldn’t be a terrible thing. I can see where Byleth is coming from.”

Constance sniffs. “Propaganda. She’s insufferable.”

Yuri rolls his eyes. “Ingrid and I go into town to get food together all the time. She may not be quite as stuck-up as you, but she’s plenty nice.”

“You’re _friends_ with her!” Constance gasps, holding a hand up to her heart in mock outrage. “With that… that creature? How dare you!”

“We’ve been friends for the past five years,” Yuri drawls. “Nice of you to finally notice. Also, I should point out that you still haven’t actually told me why you dislike her.”

“Byleth keeps assigning us to flight patrols together.” Constance turns away from Yuri, pacing back and forth and gesturing emphatically with her hands. “She’s stuck up, and has _no_ interest in magic! All she wants to talk about is our assignment, and whether or not the pegasi are doing well. It’s infuriating!”

“So she’s… too on task?” Yuri laughs again, and Constance whirls around to glare at him. He holds up his hands in surrender, but she doesn't buy it. “I’m just saying, maybe the reason she never talks to you about anything other than your patrols is because that’s the only time you’ve tried to talk to her about. Go get food with her or something. Goddess knows you could use more friends.”

Constance scoffs. “ _Excuse_ you, I do not need more friends!” She turns and stalks out of the room, Yuri’s voice ringing in her ears as she heads above ground. More friends. Please! The only thing that she needs is to secure the future of House Nuvelle.

-

Constance’s next patrol is once again with Ingrid. She doesn't know why Byleth insists on pairing the same groups of people up together over and over again. It’s infuriating! Byleth decided that they should be friends, and now they’re going to be forced together until they are? Preposterous! Besides, there are plenty of other flying units that they could be learning how to work in tandem with. There’s no reason for her to be forced to work with Ingrid, of all people. It’s positively inhumane.

She’s half tempted to avoid being Ingrid’s friend entirely, just to spite the Professor. But, of course, their flight patrols are outside, and as soon as the sunlight hits her she remembers that she has no true friends at all, nor anything in her life worth being proud of. She’s quiet and reserved the entire patrol, and when she finally gets to steal away to the shadows once more, she leaves without telling Ingrid goodbye.

The month passes like that, in fits and starts. Constance complains about her patrols to Yuri and Ferdinand and anyone who will listen, and Ingrid keeps being infuriatingly polite every time they’re together. Byleth forces the two of them together more often than not, until one day Constance arrives for their mid-afternoon patrol and Ingrid is nowhere to be found. Her pegasus is still out in the field, peacefully grazing. Constance leans on the fence and frowns at the golden mare, watching her munch away at the grass. Where has Ingrid run off to?

Constance is certainly not going to cover for her, or take the blame for a shoddy patrol. No, she is going to go find Ingrid, march her over to Byleth, and then explain that they simply cannot be expected to work together. They have nothing in common, not even the ability to be punctual.

Constance whirls around in a huff and stalks off to find Ingrid, her arms crossed and already fuming. Whenever she finds her, she’s going to give her a real piece of her mind.

After some time spent searching - time which she would much rather have spent doing something more productive, thank you very much, Constance finally finds Ingrid.

Ingrid is alone, kneeling, in front of the pile of rubble that used to be considered something holy. Constance’s furious footsteps slow, and she comes to a halt just behind Ingrid. The sun isn’t out, luckily, and it’s overcast enough that she can tell herself that it’s night and actually believe it.

“Constance.” Ingrid’s voice sounds rougher than normal. “What are you doing here?”

All at once, Constance’s will crumbles. “I -” her mouth twists. “You were not present for our patrol. I came to see if you had been slaughtered.”

“Right, crap.” Ingrid sits back on her heels, running a hand through her hair.

It’s even shorter than Constance’s used to be, and she finds herself missing her bob with a sudden pang of longing. Long hair is such a hassle, especially during battle. Perhaps Ingrid had the right idea. She’s from Faerghus, isn’t she? Everything there is optimized for war.

“It is of no matter,” Constance says stiffly. “Although I _do_ expect you to be the one to explain it to Byleth.”

A soft chuckle. “Yes. Of course. I can do that.”

Ingrid still hasn’t turned around. Constance casts her gaze about the cathedral, feebly hoping that someone else who Ingrid actually cares for is around. There is, of course, no one, and they are alone with their thoughts.

Despicable.

Constance sighs, twirling a strand of her hair through her fingers. “Well? Why were you absent?”

Ingrid gestures towards the heap of stone in front of her. “Is it not obvious? I was praying.”

“What could you _possibly_ be praying for?” Derision drips from Constance’s tongue, try as she might to reim in her scorn.

Ingrid sighs, her shoulders slumping. In the dim light, she almost looks like a part of the rubble herself, a statue left to decay along with the rest of this formally holy mess. “Forgiveness.”

The self-hatred in her voice makes Constance flinch back, and she curls a hand close to her chest, as though she’s protecting herself from mere words. Foolish. But then again, Constance herself used to pray for forgiveness more often than not. She understands the misery coating Ingrid’s tongue, and try as she might she still has not been able to leave it behind. After all, look at what the sun has done to her.

“Ah.” Constance grimaces, then sits down beside Ingrid. “Do you think we will get it? We live when others do not.”

Ingrid turns her head to the side. This close, Constance can look at the long line of her jaw and recognize its beauty firsthand. Ingrid bows her head, looking down at her clasped hands.

“I was engaged, as a girl.”

Constance looks over at Ingrid. “Many nobles are in prearranged engagements from birth.”

“We were friends,” Ingrid says softly. “Best friends. I don’t think I loved him. I don’t think I knew what love was. But he was my friend.”

“He’s dead, then?” Constance can feel how tactless the question is even as she asks it.

Ingrid nods. “He has been for a long time. He died saving King Dimitri’s life.”

Ah. So it goes back to the Kingdom. For one brief, selfish moment Constance is pleased that her family had no dying wish. Their deaths were senseless and terrible, yes, but from Ingrid’s expression she thinks it might be better than having them die in service of something.

If someone you love dies for someone else, does the love go to them?

“I see.”

Ingrid picks up a rock off the floor of the cathedral and throws it into the mess of rubble. It plinks against a stone and disappears within moments. “It’s not fair,” Ingrid snaps. “He died, and I’m still here, and I feel so _guilty_ all the time. Now I’m fighting for Edelgard, and I’ve betrayed everything he ever stood for. How am I supposed to live with myself after this?”

Constance pulls her knees up to her chest. “I don’t rightly know. It is all… very complicated. Five years ago, when this began, Edelgard told me that fighting would not be enough to secure my future. I would have to earn a name for myself in her new world, just as everyone else.”

She meets Ingrid’s eyes, smiling timidly at the other girl. “We can both earn our own names, I suppose.” The words come out far softer than Constance intended for them too, and immediately she straightens, tossing her hair imperiously over her shoulder. “That is to say, I will succeed most magnificently in Lady Edelgard’s new world, and _you_ will be the one trailing behind, playing catch up. One day I imagine my station will be so high that I will not even deign to speak to you.”

Ingrid lets out a quiet laugh.

Constance has heard enough hollow laughter from her own mouth to know Ingrid’s for what it is. “Were you really praying for forgiveness?”

Ingrid tips her head back to look up at the cloudy sky. Constance traces the smooth line of her throat with her eyes, then flushes and tears her gaze away. “I think I was trying to.” She sighs. “But no. I suppose if I had to be specific, I’d say that I was asking for guidance.”

Constance lets the silence settle over them for a long moment. “You know that the purpose of this war is to free us silly mortals from the shackles of the church, right?”

“I know, I know.” Ingrid brushes a hand through her bangs. “I just…. She used to be my Goddess too, a long time ago. Something worth praying to. Then Glenn died and…” Ingrid shakes her head. “It’s all coming apart.”

Everything fell apart for Constance ten years ago. One war destroyed her life, and yet another may rebuild it. It’s funny, how circular things can be. “I am fighting for a house that does not exist, and will not exist if Edelgard succeeds.” Constance stands, suddenly unable to remain sitting for a single moment longer. Her legacy hangs so heavy around her neck, threatening to destroy her in its wake if she lets it.

Damn Ingrid for making her remember the weight of it all!

Ingrid looks up at her. There’s rubble strewn around her, and Constance presses her lips together at the sight of her. It’s like something out of a painting; a fallen Kingdom general turned traitor, lamenting her fate. Dorothea would surely be able to spin up a beautiful opera around the concept.

If they’re lucky, there will be no operas about them. As much as Constance loves dramatics, she’s seen too many tragedies for one lifetime. She would rather not watch any more play out right in front of her, either in person or as a spectator. They have all borne witness to enough tragedy for the time being, she thinks.

Ingrid meets her gaze and offers the barest hint of a smile. “Why do you fight then?” The lines of her face are heavier, more drawn than Constance remembers them usually looking. She must not have been sleeping well, and Constance chides herself. Since when has she been concerned about whether or not Ingrid is sleeping well?

Goddess, she hates when Yuri’s right.

Constance looks over her shoulder, back towards the entrance to the Cathedral. They’re still alone, which means no one will hear any of her quiet confessions except for Ingrid. “What else is there?” Constance asks softly. 

Ingrid shrugs. “You could have run. Most of the people in Abyss aren’t fighting. No one would have judged you for staying with them.”

Constance laughs. “Ha! I did not take you for a liar, Lady Galatea!” She toys with one of her curls, twining it between her fingers. “If I were to refuse to fight, I would be doing my family a disservice. If I do not make something of myself, they will have died for nothing.”

Ingrid pushes herself to her feet, dusting off her clothing. “I understand. I am much the same.” She smiles wryly, picking out a stray rock nestled in the collar of her cape, letting it fall to the ground. “If I do not gain some sort of renown in this war, I will have betrayed my people for nothing. Edelgard’s vision for the world is right, and I know it is, but if I don’t gain glory…. I will be a traitor and there will be no good from it. It will all have been for nothing.”

Constance swallows, her throat suddenly tight. “It won’t be. The war will go as planned. It will all be worth it, in the end.” 

She spins on her heel without another word and walks back to her room. Try as she might, she can’t put Ingrid’s face out of her mind for the rest of the day. That night, when she lies down to sleep, Ingrid’s words ring in her ears.

Why _is_ she fighting? What is it for? What does it matter? No matter what, such thoughts won’t leave her, and she tosses and turns well into the night. When sleep finally takes her, it’s fitful and restless, and she dreams of dying in a blaze of glory.

-

A few days later, the two of them have another patrol together. It’s hardly surprising. Byleth seems obsessed with the idea of their teamwork, and as loathe as Constance is to admit it, the former professor might have a point. Constance doesn’t speak, but the bags under Ingrid’s eyes seem a little less pronounced, and Constance smiles timidly from atop her pegasus. Ingrid waves, and when they take to the sky, Constance tries to hold Ingrid’s fragile smile in her mind and gain some measure of courage from it.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t do much, but still, it’s nice to have something else to keep in mind.

After their patrol, Ingrid remains silent until they’re in the safety of the barn. Constance appreciates it more than she can say, and once they’re indoors, the fog over Constance’s mind finally lifts. She sighs, resting her forehead against the shoulder of her black pegasus. The gelding noses at her hair, and she smiles, taking a deep breath before straightening up.

“Why are you so different in the sun?”

Constance flinches, her hand curling tight into her horse’s mane. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t…” Ingrid dumps her saddle onto the divider between the stalls. “I don’t mean to be rude. But it’s like you’re a different person.”

“You are incapable of understanding,” Constance says stiffly, unbuckling the girth of her saddle. “It is far beyond your comprehension.”

“Try me.” Ingrid folds her arms across the top of her saddle and rests her chin there.

Constance sighs. “House von Nuvelle has suffered atrocities, just as everyone else. My countenance in the sun is a direct reflect of those atrocities.” She smooths a hand down her gelding’s neck.

“Oh, Constance…” Ingrid’s voice drips with a sympathy Constance does not want.

“No.” She shakes her head emphatically. “Whatever it is you mean to say, I would rather not hear it.”

Ingrid’s mouth snaps shut. “Of course. I understand.”

Constance’s shoulders ease slightly. “Thank you,” she says stiffly.

Ingrid grunts, and Constance smiles as she finishes untacking her pegasus.The two of them work in a companionable silence, one that Constance hasn’t managed to reach in the stables with anyone other than Hapi. When they’re both finished and Constance is set to turn her mount out in the sunny pasture awaiting him, Ingrid holds out her hand before she can step outside the shadow of the barn. “Here, let me. I’ve got him.” It’s an unexpected kindness, one that Constance is not sure she wants. She isn’t weak, of course, and is perfectly capable of stepping into the sunlight and turning out her own pegasus.

Ingrid’s face however, is open and earnest, and Constance nods before she can talk herself out of it. “I suppose you can handle it,” she says, passing off the lead rope to Ingrid.

Their fingers brush as she hands the gelding over, and Constance shivers, trying desperately to convince herself that it’s simply a passing chill.

Ingrid leads both of the pegasi away, Constance clinging to the shadows and watching her step into the sunshine without a care in the world. One day, that will be her. She swears it.

When Ingrid returns, Constance is still in the midst of making up her mind on whether or not she wants Ingrid Brandl Galatea’s kindness or not. It’s a conundrum she isn’t used to having, and she leans against the stable wall, a small frown on her face.

Ingrid ducks back into the shade, rubbing at a smudge of dirt on her cheek. “There we go. All done.”

“Thank you,” Constance says, hating the gratitude in her voice.

Ingrid shrugs. “May as well save one of us the trip.” She hangs the pegasi’s halters back up, then turns towards Constance. “Come get lunch with me.”

Constance, stuck in the shadow of the building, narrows her eyes and watches Ingrid suspiciously. She doesn’t seem to have malicious intentions, but Constance doesn’t think she’s entirely someone worth trusting either. Most people aren’t. 

“I suppose I could partake,” Constance says hesitantly.

Ingrid smiles. “Of course you can! Everything’s better with a good meal!”

Constance slips out of the shadows carefully, feeling the heavy cloud of anxiety and sadness fall over her as soon as she steps into the sunlight. What right does she have, to act like she’s any better than Ingrid? She is nothing compared to such a high-born lady. Her name is worth nothing anymore. She’s lucky that Ingrid is willing to dine with her at all.

A sigh of relief falls from her lips as they enter the safety of the building, and Constance stands a little straighter, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. Ingrid’s gaze darts over to look at her, but she doesn’t say anything, for which Constance is indubitably grateful. Perhaps there is something to be said for Lady Galatea after all.

There’s pheasant with berry sauce today, one of Constance’s favorites, and the two of them sit down next to each other at a table, digging into their meals with a relish.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said.” Ingrid puts down her fork halfway through the meal, leaning forward and resting her chin on her palm.

Constance sniffs. “I say many things, all of them worth spending undue amounts of time worth mulling over. Which words exactly do you speak of?”

Ingrid rolls her eyes and points her fork at Constance in warning. “About what we’re fighting for. I’ve been trying to figure it out.”

Constance purses her lips. “I see. Well, do let me know if you need any more nuggets of wisdom.”

“I’m trying to be serious about this!” Ingrid exclaims. “It’s weird to be here and know that my next battle could be against people I once considered family! I’m just… trying to figure out a way to make it worthwhile.”

Perhaps Ingrid isn’t up to teasing this afternoon. Constance primly wipes her mouth with her napkin, then sets it off to the side. With a sigh, she drags her gaze away from her meal. “Of course. Excuse my uncouthness just now.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Excused.”

“Excellent!” Constance tosses a ringlet over her shoulder. “Now then, let’s discuss. What are you fighting for?”

“No, that isn’t-” Ingrid pinches the bridge of her nose. “I wasn’t saying you needed to solve this problem for me. I was simply trying to thank you for helping me put it into words.”

“No, no, I have it!” Constance claps her hand together, beaming. “What about your people? Shouldn’t you be fighting for them, _Lady Galatea?_ ”

Ingrid scowls and shoves a bite of her chicken into her mouth. “You’re not a noble anymore. I don’t think you get to tell me what I should be fighting for.”

Constance aches one perfectly plucked eyebrow and laughs, chortling as only she can. When she catches her breath, she wipes away an imaginary tear. “Oh Ingrid. None of us are nobles anymore! Don’t you remember?”

Ingrid doesn’t reply, and in the space between words Constance realizes what a momentous thing she’s just said. The two of them sit there, a stunned silence between them before Ingrid finally speaks. “Huh.”

Constance presses her lips together. “Huh.” In truth, she has never stopped thinking of herself as Constance of House Nuvelle, even if it’s technically been a lie for years. Now, it’s going to be a lie for the rest of her life.

Ingrid stares down at her plate of food and doesn’t say a thing. Constance follows suit, the roasted pheasant laying before her suddenly looking incredibly unappetizing. She sighs, pushing her vegetables around with her fork. “I suppose if I _must_ be fighting for something,” she says, “then I am fighting to be worth something. My house is gone and so is my family. Without them, any prominence I have is dead as well. All I wish is that my name is something worth knowing.”

“Mm.” Ingrid shoves a bite of pheasant into her mouth and then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “I think your name is worth knowing.”

Constance’s mouth falls open in a very unladylike manner, but she can’t bring it upon herself to close it. “Thank you,” she says stiffly.

Ingrid nods. Her face is red, and Constance is overcome by a truly idiotic urge to reach out and touch her cheek. She looks down at her hands instead of Ingrid’s face, feeling her own cheeks slowly warm to match her companion’s.

Constance takes a deep breath, then reaches out and rests her hand on top of Ingrid’s.

Ingrid jerks her head up, eyes wide. “Constance?”

“Shush,” Constance says.

Ingrid laughs, so quiet that Constance would have missed it if she didn’t have such sharp ears. “You don’t want to talk? I thought you always had something to say.” She turns her hand over, her palm touching Constance’s and her fingers coming up around her hand. She squeeze’s Constance’s hand, and Constance squeezes Ingrid’s back.

They don’t speak for the rest of their meal, but they each eat with only one hand. There’s a new world coming, and as Constance sneaks glances at Ingrid out of the corner of her eye, she realizes that there are new people in that world too.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on twitter @edelgardlesbian!


End file.
